


on this fresh morning

by ont



Series: mockingbird [19]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Black Comedy, Dirty Talk, Drug Use, Kidfic, M/M, Married Life, Mental Illness, Past Mpreg, Post-Zayn One Direction, complicated band dynamics, domestic fic, niall pov, post partum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ont/pseuds/ont
Summary: Niall pays a visit to Louis and Zayn to meet their newborn son. (sliding doors verse)
Relationships: Zayn Malik/Louis Tomlinson
Series: mockingbird [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/499807
Comments: 18
Kudos: 36





	on this fresh morning

**Author's Note:**

> still clearing out the drafts lol

CALABASAS, MAY 3, 2017

Even for L.A. standards, it’s a hot and sunny day: about 85 without one cloud in the sky. Niall starts getting warm under his collar just waiting on the front step for a minute, even though he’s under the shade of the massive gum and cedar trees that rim Louis and Zayn’s house.

Louis finally opens the door and shouts “oi oi” in his face before bringing him in for a squeeze. Niall loves how happy Louis always is to see him. 

He squeezes him back, and Louis lets out a soft noise of pain, so he immediately stops and draws back. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just achy,” Louis says. He’s dressed in loose sweats, the same way he always was after he had Mia, but it looks like he brushed his hair for Niall’s sake. “Y’know. I told you about my pelvis situation. Bones falling apart and all that.”

“God, poor wee Tommo.”

“It’s fine.” 

Louis beckons him in, and Niall follows him through the grand airy house and down the hall until they reach the sunken living room that overlooks the rolling hills of their property. Little Mia is sitting on the couch, coloring violently in a coloring book, and baby Amir is immobilized by a bouncy seat. Their dog Bo is napping on the other side of the couch. 

“You just left ‘em?” Niall says, laughing. He takes his shoes off and drops down onto the couch next to Louis. “Is that allowed?”

“‘Scuse us, lad,” Louis challenges. “Who knows more about babies?”

“I’ll concede that point.”

“Cheers.”

“So where’s the missus?”

Louis’ face closes a little. “Zayn’s napping,” he says. 

“Daddy,” Mia whines.

“What?” Louis says to her. 

She makes more wordless whining noises.

“What is it, love? Use your big girl words.” Louis stage whispers to Niall, “She’s been up my arse since we brought Amir home. Thinks he’s muscling in.”

“Can I meet Amir, by the way? Whole reason I came out here! Lemme meet this baby.”

“‘Course!” Louis gets up with a soft groan of pain and goes over to the bouncy seat, pulling Amir into his arms. Amir fusses a little. “Lovey, you have to meet Uncle Niall, alright? Be a good lad.”

Niall notices then that Amir and Mia match. Mia’s in a sky blue romper, and Amir’s in footie pajamas that are the same color. He’s sure a woman in Louis’ or Zayn’s family is the one who actually _bought_ these clothes, because he can’t imagine Louis engaging in such purposeful acts of color-coordination, but the fact remains that he did put them into the matching outfits. And Mia’s hair has been lovingly combed into two tiny pigtails. The last time Niall saw her, her hair was a rat’s nest, and she was wearing a tiny t-shirt that said PLAY ON, PLAYA.

Louis has always been good with kids, but Niall is surprised to see him like this — so completely a dad, so maternal, so bound up in his kids. He reaches up to take Amir, feeling fumbly and unsure of himself like a teenager. 

“His head, Nialler,” Louis murmurs, guiding Niall’s arm with his hand. “Support his head, love.”

“Sorry,” Niall says, frantically shifting so the crook of it is fully under Amir. 

Amir gazes up at him. His eyes are fringed with dark lashes, and he already has dark little eyebrows, plus some fuzzy dark hair on his head. He looks like a doll: porcelain skin, big eyes, perfect wee nose. Niall isn’t exactly baby-crazy at this point in his life, but he softens just looking at him. 

“Tommo,” he says. “This baby is _pure_ cute. I want to eat his face.”

“Ain’t he precious?” Louis gushes. He’s helping Mia color, now. “Can you believe I made that? Took him to the farmer’s market the other day, and I swear half the women I passed wanted to say hello to him. Already the ladies’ man, that one.” He strokes Mia’s hair. “People think Mims is very cute, too, of course. Don’t they, Mims?”

“No,” Mia says tonelessly, still focused on her coloring. 

“She doesn’t even know what she’s saying no to,” Louis says, sounding proud. “Ever since she learned to say no, she says it to everything. I keep telling her that’s no way to go through life, but she don’t care.”

Amir has started grabbing at Niall’s sleeve. Niall smiles at him. 

“How old is he, now?” he says.

“Six weeks,” Louis says. 

“So… he do much yet?”

“Nah, nothing, really.”

“Is he good?”

“He is! Poor Mims was very colicky, and he hasn’t been. Not yet anyway.” Louis stretches his arm over the back of the couch and raps his knuckles on the wood floor. 

Amir blows a spit bubble, and Niall laughs, which Amir starts whimpering about.

“Oh, no,” Louis says hurriedly. “Here, hand me him.”

Niall rather haphazardly passes the baby back to Louis, who starts cuddling him and softly murmuring to him. The whimpering quickly stops, but Mia looks annoyed that it ever happened.

“He gets upset when people laugh,” Louis whispers, glancing up at Niall. “Anyone but me, it makes him cry. Even Zayn! Weirdest thing.”

“You should’ve warned me!”

“Oh, mate, no, I didn’t want you to think you weren’t allowed to laugh. He needs to get desensitized, anyway.”

Niall takes a better look at Louis as he bounces Amir. He has deep under-eye circles, and there’s not much color in his face.

“You alright, then?” Niall says. “You doing well, and everything?”

Louis smiles wanly at him. “Aye, I’m only tired. New baby, lad.”

“But overall? You and Zayn are alright?”

Louis nods. Amir hiccups and makes a soft burbling sound, and Louis rubs his back. Mia is trying to get Niall to pay attention to her, now, and he starts tickling her, making her fall out with giggles.

“You ask me that question proper often,” Louis murmurs. “Do I not seem happy?”

“It’s just a lot, y’know? All this, at twenty-five? And I —“ Niall fumbles, his cheeks heating up. He stares at his hand as it strokes Mia’s head, while she gazes up at him with twinkling blue eyes. “I don’t want — I’d like to see you with a good career, y’know? I dunno what’ll happen with the band, I really don’t. That Christmas meetin’ was rough. Seems like we’ve got a lot to work through before any sort of reunion. And, I dunno, you’ve just…”

“What?” Louis prods him. 

Niall shrugs helplessly. “I dunno. I’m sorry. I’m sayin’ all the wrong things.”

“You think I’ve given up? ‘Cos I haven’t. I’ve just taken a bit of a detour.”

“Your kids are great. I don’t mean t’ imply that you shouldn’t’ve… y’know. You know I think you’re brave.”

“I do,” Louis says. “Look, I know the choice I made. You aren’t shockin’ me by bringing it up. You’re not the first person, and I’ve heard blunter versions — from friends and family, I mean. I’m not even counting the shit I get on a daily basis from the rags and the general dickheads. I’ve heard it all, I promise.”

Niall’s face is still hot. He doesn’t want to look at Louis, but looking at innocent little Mia, who has Louis’ eyes, is almost worse.

“It’s just been weird, like,” he admits. “Seein’ you married with kids. And you’re so involved with them, y’know? When I saw Liam last month, I could pretend things were same as usual, I can’t do that with you.”

“You want to pretend me kids don’t exist?” Louis says, sounding hurt.

“No, Tommo, no! Not at all. I love your kids… Right love?” Niall says to Mia, who smiles and giggles before chirping, “Yeah!”

The baby fusses. Louis shifts on the couch, moving Amir into his arms and slipping the tip of his pinky finger into his mouth so he can suckle at it. “I’ll have to feed him in a mo,” he says. 

Niall queasily wonders if Louis is going to nurse him. “It just all feels so… big,” he says. “Like I don’t see this shit happening for me for another decade. And you’ve just gone and done it. Makes me feel like we’re worlds apart.”

“Never, mate,” Louis says in a soft voice. “No, we’re brothers. I love you. I’ll always be your best dumb dickhead friend, please don’t think that’s changed. I’m just not so much a kid anymore, is all. I had to grow up.”

“When’d’you grow up? What triggered it, I mean? Feels like it happened so fast.”

He shrugs. “When I found out I was pregnant with Mims? Maybe when I told Modest I was keeping her? Or maybe when I had to leave the tour. I dunno, maybe it wasn’t even all at once. Just at some point I realized I kept making decisions based on what was best for her, not anything to do with what I wanted.”

“Makes sense,” Niall says.

Louis’ mouth tightens. “Maybe when I broke things off with Liam,” he says quietly. “And went home to be with Zayn…”

Niall stays quiet. Louis has never talked to him about this, much — it was a complete surprise when he texted Niall in late August 2015, _i’ve moved in with zayn. giving it a go. i think the paps might catch us out soon, so i hate to do this to you lad, but could you tell harry? i’ll tell liam myself, but i can’t face harry._

“I never told you this, but how we got back together was, he came to me mum’s house to see me,” Louis says. “I was sort of depressed after tour end. I think Zayn and my mum might’ve talked behind me back. He came to me and asked me to come live with him, make a go of it.”

“No shit? That’s fierce direct, for Zayn.”

“It was. I think that’s why I felt alright saying yes. I could tell how serious ‘e was. Bit of a whiplash as far as how things’d been between us, but…”

Niall lets out an emotional little laugh. “Christ, I still feel so much like a kid,” he says. “Watchin’ you leave me behind… it feels like… ah.” He doesn’t want to step on the landmine of Greg, so he just says, “Feels strange.”

“I’m not leaving you anywhere,” Louis exclaims. “You’re leaving me behind, if anythin’, Mr. Solo!”

Niall flaps his hand. “One song. You made two people.”

“Oh, now you’re just being silly.”

“And the other thing is, I still feel sorta awkward around Zayn,” he admits. 

“Oi, I’m married to him and I sometimes feel awkward around him,” Louis jokes. “Don’t let that stop you coming to visit. Just remember he’s more afraid of you than you are of him.”

Niall laughs harder, then claps a hand to his mouth. “Sorry, Amir,” he whispers. 

“‘E’s not even paying attention,” Louis says, glancing down at the baby in his arms. “Too hungry. So, uh… you saw Liam, recently?”

Niall nods.

Louis’ face briefly becomes a mask of guilt, worry and pain. “How is he?”

“You want the real answer?”

“‘Course, yeah…”

“I think he’s sort o’ just thrown himself into this relationship with Ceci and isn’t thinking too hard about other things. It was hard t’ get him on a topic that wasn’t music or his home life. So that was all we talked about, really.”

“Right,” Louis says. “But did he seem well? How’s he look?”

Niall shrugs. Mia’s playing with his watch now, trying to tug it off his wrist. “He looked the same as at Christmas,” he says. “Seemed fine. He kept things sort of surface-level, but I didn’t get the impression he was secretly fallin’ apart or anythin’.”

“I broke his heart,” Louis mutters, cradling the back of Amir’s head in his hand.

“He’s had his heart broken before.”

“I know. Just every time I think about it I feel sick.”

“You always picked him up when his heart was broken, before,” Niall says. “Think it’s hard on ya to be the one who caused it this time, to not be able to be there for him.”

Louis nods. “Right.”

“He’s happy with Ceci and the baby. He really is.”

“I dunno if I want to hear that either,” Louis says with a wry smile.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t be. I want you to tell me the truth. It’s all in the past now, anyway.”

They’re quiet for a long moment, and then Louis clears his throat. “Look, I’m gonna fetch the baby a bottle, and then I’m gonna check on Zayn, and then put Mims down, and then we can go out back, yeah? Kick the football around. Act like normal twenty-five year old lads. You can pretend I haven’t got kids, if that suits you. Can you watch her a second while I'm doing that?"

Niall looks nervously at Mia, who looks back at him.

"You'll be fine," Louis says. "She likes you. I'm back in a flash, I promise."

“Alright. Y’know, you _are_ awfully cheerful, even with all the sleep deprivation and pain and all.”

“Oh, I’ve got a se-ecret,” Louis sings as he carries Amir off to the kitchen, stepping over Mia’s toys on his way. He adds in a stage whisper, “I’m on loads of Demerol."

*

Zayn woke up that morning shaking like a leaf from anxiety, sweaty and clammy, his heart pounding sickly in his chest for no reason. So he just stayed in bed and hasn’t been able to leave since. 

He called Dr. Lowenstein on his personal cell around ten, and it sounded like he was at brunch on a rooftop or something. To be fair, it is Sunday. 

“Just take another Xanax, Zayn,” Lowenstein said, sounding a little exasperated with him. 

“Another Hulk bar?”

“Excuse me?”

“Another two milligrams, you mean?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

“Ain’t that too much, though?” Zayn said nervously.

“Clearly you’ve built up a tolerance, so no. Xanax is very hard to take too much of, anyway. I have to go, but are you feeling okay otherwise?”

Otherwise? Zayn didn’t even know what that meant. Was having heart palpitations and being soaked with sweat ‘feeling okay’? “Yeah,” he said.

So he’d taken the second Hulk bar and laid back in the sheets to shake and sweat some more, with the shades and curtains pulled shut so the bright Los Angeles sun wouldn’t disturb him. The additional Xanax is just starting to kick in when Louis comes upstairs, singing softly.

Louis’ voice travels down the hall, and then the bedroom door opens. “Hi love,” he says. Footsteps approach the bed. “You feeling better?”

Zayn is feeling pretty good, now, although there’s an emptiness at the core of him that’s making him feel crazy. And a buzzing in his head like bees. “Yeah,” he says.

Louis’ weight settles onto the bed. Zayn cracks one eye open and lifts his head. He’s got Amir in his arms, and he’s feeding him a bottle.

Zayn feels a twinge of annoyance about this. Lately Louis’ caring for the kids is so constant, so compulsive, it’s like they’re a physical obstacle he’s putting in between him and Zayn. Zayn just wants Louis to take care of him, to wrap his arms around him and kiss him and tether him to the earth. But their needy little babies need him more. When they’re a little older, it’ll get better, but Zayn can’t wait months, he’s spiralling now. He’s falling apart _now_.

He has a sudden horrible vision of their future being just an endless series of accidental babies — that in four months Louis will come to him again and say, again: “I’m pregnant, I dunno how. Guess the IUD failed.” And he’ll just keep not getting abortions, and they’ll just keep having kids endlessly. Ten kids. Fifteen. While Zayn wastes away in the corner until he’s nothing but a sweaty, shaky skeleton. 

He can’t stop fucking Louis, though. Fucking Louis is one of the only things that feels good anymore. It’s all very complicated. 

“Why don’t you sit up, love?” Louis says.

Zayn obliges, though he’s trembling as he does so. The room is spinning a little bit. 

Louis passes Amir into his arms, making sure Zayn has him completely and is supporting the bottle at the right angle before he lets him go. 

Amir wriggles in his grip and reaches up to grab at the bottle. Zayn smiles fondly at him. He’s been so afraid of the kids these days, so afraid he’s fucking everything up and will kill them with SIDS or choke them to death with an air bubble if he does one thing wrong, that he sometimes needs Louis to force childcare on him. He knows it isn’t right or fair, but his brain won’t give him a break.

“You leaked,” he says to Louis. “Leaky boy.”

Louis looks down at his shirt. “Shit. He started crying when I was heating the bottle… I’ll go change me shirt so I don’t traumatize Niall, you know how he is.”

“Is he watching Yasmeen?”

Louis nods. 

“C’mere,” Zayn says, shifting Amir in his arms. The bottle is almost out, so he tips it up. 

Louis comes over and settles against their big soft headboard next to him, leaning into his shoulder. He has an odd mix of smells — under his cologne, Zayn can pick up the vitamin smell of baby formula, plus a soapy scent. He can’t tell if that’s from actual soap or dried breast milk. 

“Toss that shirt in the laundry before it’s wrecked,” Zayn murmurs. “Girl gets here at noon, and you know she always starts with the laundry.”

“ _Girl_ ,” Louis repeats. “She’s got a name.”

“I know! Laura. You want to toss those joggers in? You’ve been wearing them for days. You want to put a pair of jeans on? We’ve got company.”

“None of my jeans fit me right now,” Louis says, sounding churlish.

“None?”

“Aye, mate, two babies. Your fault.”

Zayn wants to argue this, but he knows he’d lose, so he doesn’t. Amir finishes the bottle, and Zayn tosses it down the bed. 

“I can burp him,” Louis says. “I’m better at that.”

“Would you quit?” Zayn snaps. “How am I supposed to get better at it if you always do it?”

“Sorry, mate! You just look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

Zayn sort of does feel like he’s about to fall asleep — he feels hot and tingly and slow, and the world is spinning in a pleasant way, now. But that doesn’t mean he can’t take care of his own son. He angles an elbow at Louis to ward him off from grabbing the baby as he sets him up against his shoulder and starts patting him.

“Okay, don’t get mardy,” Louis says quickly, “but you shouldn’t pat him if you’ve got him upright, ‘cos that makes him —“

As he says it, Amir spits up all over Zayn, covering him in hot formula. 

“Right,” Zayn says, infuriated, doubly so because he has no one to blame but himself. He shoves Amir into Louis’ arms, and Amir starts to cry.

“Don’t manhandle the baby!” Louis shouts at him. “Just ‘cos of your fuckin’ _ego_ — he’s a _baby_! It’s okay, Amir, it’s oka-ay. It’s oka-ay, sweetheart.”

Zayn, who’s already whipped his shirt off and is climbing off the bed, grips the edge of it so he doesn’t faint from a sudden head rush. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m havin’ a tough day.”

“You anxious?” Louis says. Amir is quieting down already. Of course he is. He always quiets down with Louis. 

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Zayn shakes his head. “I woke up anxious. I dunno. Barely slept.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Louis says.

“I’m tired of feeling like this,” he says hoarsely. “I feel like a shit dad. Shit husband.”

“Zayn…” Louis slides off the bed, cradling Amir to his shoulder, and with his free hand he starts to rub Zayn’s back. Zayn closes his eyes, feeling sick with shame. “Why don’t you take a shower? You’ll feel better if you shower. And I’ll go throw our shirts in the wash, and maybe I’ll call the nanny so you and me can spend some time with Niall tonight, no kids?”

Zayn is trembling again, even though the Xanax has numbed him completely. It’s vestigial trembling. “Okay.”

Louis helps him undress and get into the shower, all while cradling their baby in his arm. He turns the water up as hot as Zayn can stand. “Hot one’ll clear your head, yeah?” he says, leaning in the doorway.

Zayn barely registers the heat as he stands there under the rainfall shower head, surrounded by the gleaming dark gray of the marble shower walls. “I love you,” he says. 

Louis sighs. “Love you too. You’re fine, alright? I swear everythin’s fine. Isn’t it?” he says to Amir, then uses Amir’s little hand to wave at Zayn. “Isn’t Daddy fine?”

Amir looks up at Zayn curiously. He ducks out from under the spray and goes over to them, kissing the baby on the head and Louis on the cheek.

“Aw, you’re all wet, mate,” Louis says unhappily, wrinkling his nose.

Zayn nuzzles him. “I’m gonna fuck you later,” he murmurs, grabbing a handful of Louis’ arse and squeezing it. 

“Okay,” Louis says, laughing and giving him that smile of his, the one that drives Zayn crazy. “Not in front of the baby, yeah?”

He takes a step back, letting the door fall shut behind him. Zayn watches through the foggy glass as the fuzzy figure of his husband walks away.

*

Niall watches from the kitchen island while Louis bangs through the cabinets, looking for pots and pans. “We can just wait for Zayn to make something,” he says. “Or send for takeaway. I’m no’ picky.”

“I can make food!” Louis exclaims. “I cook!”

Louis’ phone dings on the island, and Niall pulls it over to himself to check the notification. They have no secrets between them.

“Zayn tagged you in an Insta,” he says.

“Did he?” Louis says, setting a cast iron skillet on the counter with a clank. “He can tag me in things but ‘e can’t come downstairs for food, huh? What’d he say?”

Niall types in Louis’ phone code and checks. The post is a photo of Louis holding Amir, probably from a few weeks ago, when he was still very little. It’s shot from behind Louis’ shoulder, which Amir’s head is resting on, and Louis is kissing said head. The caption is _angel boys._

Niall feels kind of grody describing this, considering his mixed feelings toward Zayn, so he just turns the phone to Louis and holds it up. Louis leans in and squints, then rolls his eyes and laughs.

“He’s trying to make nice with me,” he says, smiling. “He doesn’t need to do that shit. Every time he thinks I’m angry with him he goes and claims me on the Internet. Like marrying me wasn’t enough.” He taps his wedding ring with his thumb. 

“You angry?” Niall says.

“Naw. Just annoyed. I think he’s let his anxiety run away with him a bit, since the baby. But,” Louis sighs. “Reckon it’s not his fault. I dunno. I’m just so tired right now, even with the nanny, I need all the help I can get.” 

“I get you.”

Louis nods at the phone in his hand. “What’re the comments like?”

Niall scrolls through them and grimaces. “Half nice, half nasty.”

“Yeah, they’re usually like that.”

“People don’t much like you two together.”

Louis shrugs. “My fans don’t like him, his fans don’t like me, everyone else thinks it’s a funny circus. You know what’s funny, he’s got all these friends — _‘friends’_ — who I can just tell want to fuck him… you know how when you’re out wiv people and you can just tell everyone’s glarin’ at you ‘cos of who you’re with? And they’ll never like a photo he posts with me in it. They’ll like pics of the kids that I’m not in, though.”

“Hmm,” Niall says. “You worried at all?”

“Not about those people, no.” Louis tilts his head. “How are you, Nialler?”

“We talked about me,” Niall deflects.

“Not too much. You keep turnin’ it around to me.”

“Well,” Niall sighs. “Er…”

Louis leans his elbows down on the island. “How’s work? How’s music?”

“It’s dead exciting,” Niall says, smiling. “I mean, I miss you all somethin’ awful. But doing it just yourself is such an experience.”

“I’m really happy for you,” Louis says. “I’m comin’ along, I swear, I want to do it too. The rest of you are, y’know? Just when the babies are a little older.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I want to do it for them, y’know? They can’t know me only as a dad, that’d kill me.”

Niall grins at him. “Good.”

Louis grins back. 

“I don’t want to see you swallowed up by Zayn,” Niall says. “I’ll start riotin’ if that happens.”

“You, lad? Riotin’?”

“I’m Irish! We fancy a riot.”

Louis plays with his phone. “It won’t happen. I’d actually like to collaborate with him, if we can make it work.”

Niall feels like a dumbbell has been swung into his head. “Collaborate? With _him_?”

Louis smiles wryly.

“Louis, that’s not on, lad. Come on. He left the band, and you’ll collaborate with him when the band’s on break, when we all agreed not to break off into twosomes?”

“He's my _husband_ ,” Louis counters. “The twosomes rule was mostly about me and Payno. And the rest of you’re the ones who let the band end, so.”

Niall hugs himself with his arms, feeling suddenly chilly in the grand kitchen with its tall ceilings. “I would’ve kept on,” he says.

“I know, lad.”

“It was Harry who really wanted it.”

Louis sighs. “I know.”

“So he could act.”

“And come after Zayn’s solo career.”

“I know, I know. But can you blame him?”

“No,” Louis says, “and I’ve got no hard feelings, but I’m not gonna put me own life on hold ‘cos he was petty. Sorry.”

“It’s not even you he’s angry with.”

“It’s a little bit me.”

“Nah,” Niall says. “Me and him talked about it a bit at tour end. He’s angry at Zayn, and himself. More himself. He never told Zayn how he felt, or got any closure.”

“Tough,” Louis says mulishly. 

“Lou, you won. You got him. Don’t be a sore winner.”

“I didn’t win,” Louis says. “How’ve I won? When Harry’s got the ideal career. Are you joking? You think he’d ever trade places with me?”

“It’s not even just the marriage and kids. It’s how much Zayn loves you. Harry’s first love’s madly in love with you, an’ shit like that is hard on us losers in love... the romantically unlucky.”

Louis laughs in disbelief. “Niall! You could have any woman you wanted. People absolutely think you’re better-looking than I am. Come off it.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Niall says, his face getting hot. “I can’t — people fall in love with you. You don’t see that, ‘cos you live in it, but that’s not normal, lad. I can hold a girl’s interest for five months, maybe six, then it starts falling apart on me. I’m not gettin’ no love.”

Louis makes a funny noise that sounds like a strangled sigh. “It’s ’cos I’m open to it, ‘cos I need it. You’re not, ‘cos you don’t.”

“I’m not trying to prove a point, I was just explaining Harry’s point of view.”

“Everyone’s in love with Harry anyway,” Louis says. “The fuck does he have to be jealous of me for?”

“Everyone’s in love with who they _think_ Harry is,” Niall says patiently. “It’s different. He can’t be himself like you can.”

“Again, I’m sorry, and I love him, but — tough.” Louis turns back to the fridge and yanks it open. “You want eggs, lad? Omelette?”

“I could eat an omelette.”

They make small talk while Louis cooks on the island stovetop, with Niall walking Louis through his album’s tracklist so far and playing a few clips from it on his phone. They’re deep into a music chat, happy and laughing, when Zayn walks into the kitchen.

It isn’t his fault, but for some reason his presence cuts through the mood like a buzzsaw. Louis trails off and clears his throat, not looking up from the pan. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” Zayn says, coming over to Louis and wrapping his arms around his waist, sidling up behind him. “Hi, Niall.”

“Hey,” Niall says back, flicking his phone screen off. 

Louis glances up, and for a second Niall thinks he sees a flash of crazed exhaustion on his face, but it’s gone before he can be sure. Zayn rests his chin on Louis’ shoulder. 

“You want some food?” Louis says, folding the omelette over and dumping it onto a plate, then grimacing as it falls apart under its own weight. “Sorry, Niall, I’m not so cracking at the presentation.”

“As long as it tastes good, I don’t care,” Niall says. It looks plenty cheesy, which is all he really cares about, so he stabs a fork in and starts eating. 

Zayn is rubbing up against Louis in a way that isn’t very PG-13. Niall stares at his omelette like it’s fascinating.

“I asked if you want food, mate,” Louis says, and elbows Zayn in the side.

“No,” Zayn mutters.

“No? It’s half two.”

“I ate earlier.”

“What’d you eat?”

Zayn doesn’t answer, he just buries his face in Louis’ neck, kissing him. 

“We’re gonna go play footie out back when Niall’s done eating,” he says. “You wanna join us?”

“Okay,” Zayn says. His eyes are bloodshot and not quite focused, like he’s high on something, though Niall can’t tell what. He runs a hand up under Louis’ sweatshirt, and Louis groans in pain.

“Zayn,” he says, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging his hand down. “My nipples hurt. You _know_ my nipples hurt. Fuck’s sake.”

“You aren’t a lot of fun, lately,” Zayn says, detaching himself from Louis and going over to the fridge to pull out a beer. He uses the counter to pop the top off.

“No, I’m not,” Louis snaps. “Funny, that.”

At this, Niall starts getting a rush of divorced-parents PTSD. But as soon as he feels his face heating up and his emotions retreating, the spat is already defusing itself — Zayn offers his beer to Louis, who takes it appreciatively, and then they’re talking quietly and smiling at each other like nothing happened. 

“You wanna play footie, you said?” Zayn says.

“Yeah, just kick a ball around,” Louis says, taking another long sip of the beer before handing it back to Zayn.

“I’m down,” Zayn says, and smiles at Niall in a way that stings like a knife in Niall’s chest, because Zayn hasn’t smiled at him like that in years.

*

Even though it was Louis’ idea, footie is a kind of cruelty to him; he’s in so much pain and such bad shape that after ten minutes, every movement is agony. He plays for as long as he can before sitting down in the grass under the hot sun, wincing, watching Niall and Zayn kick back and forth and attempt footwork tricks that Louis is much better at — or rather, he is when he’s not falling apart physically, with his entire center of gravity thrown out of whack.

“Alright,” Zayn wheezes, not long after Louis has sat down. “I c —“ He coughs a lungy smoker’s cough that bends him in half. “I can’t do this anymore. Too hot out.”

Niall, who is bright pink but otherwise unperturbed, starts taking shots on the regulation-sized goal Louis had installed in the backyard right after they moved in, before he got pregnant with Amir. Zayn comes over and sits down next to Louis, still coughing.

“Alright mate?” Louis says to him. 

“Yeah,” Zayn wheezes. “How are you?”

Louis shrugs and hands him a bottled water. “Been better.”

Zayn takes the water, then puts a hand on Louis’ thigh and leaves it there while he coughs himself out. “Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s fine. How are you?”

“Better than earlier.”

“Is that the Xanax?” 

Zayn nods and pushes his hair back from his face. He starts sliding his hand up Louis’ thigh before leaning over and burying his face in Louis’ shoulder.

“What’s wrong, mate?” Louis says, stroking the back of his neck where his short hair sticks up. “What’s the problem? What can I do to help?”

Zayn shrugs. “I just want to touch you,” he says.

“Okay…” Louis kisses him on the side of his head. “That’s alright. You can touch me.”

Zayn kisses him on the collarbone. “Wanna smoke?”

“Yeah, alright. Maybe we can get Niall to smoke a bit.”

“Maybe.”

They both look up at Niall, who’s retrieving the football out of the depths of the goal, getting tangled in the net.

“Alright, mate?” Louis calls.

“Never better,” Niall yells back.

*

They retire to the den to smoke and crush a box of Murphy’s. Louis watches Zayn worriedly out of the corner of his eye, because he’s not supposed to drink on the Xanax, but he keeps it to two beers and seems alright. Niall gets wasted very fast, which makes Louis realize he must feel more nervy about being around Zayn than he was letting on. Poor lad. He’s so good at hiding that sort of thing.

It jumps out later, when there’s a lull in the conversation and Zayn checks his phone, then sets it face-down on the table in front of him. Niall, who’s sitting on his left, flicks his bleary eyes at Zayn with suspicion. This isn’t coming from nowhere — they all remember this habit of Zayn’s from the band, when he was cheating on Perrie. He never wanted anyone looking at his phone screen or going through his phone, and he was always setting it face-down on surfaces. 

“Hiding something?” Niall blurts out.

Zayn jerks his head up, looking pissed and disappointed at the same time. “Yeah,” he snaps, “I’m textin’ all my side hoes, right here in front of both of you.”

“Zayn, relax,” Louis says, taking the last drag off of the joint they were passing around and tossing the roach into the ashtray. He settles back into the leather couch, kicking his feet up on the table, and enjoys the sensation of his skin buzzing. “It was a joke.”

“Didn’t sound like a joke.”

“Bad one,” Niall says. 

Louis is quiet. He feels like if he says anything, he’ll just make Zayn think he’s allying with Niall in being suspicious of him. It doesn’t help that he asked to look through Zayn’s phone a few weeks ago. He didn’t find anything, and he didn’t expect to, but the fact remains that he asked. 

“Whatever,” Zayn says, getting to his feet. 

“Where you going?” Louis says.

“Getting water.”

As soon as Zayn is out the door, Niall winces and says, “Sorry.”

“Ain’t your fault, mate.”

“I really just don’t know what to say to him, sometimes.”

Louis shrugs and looks up at the ceiling, continuing to melt into the cushions. Whatever strain this is that Zayn provided, it has him couchlocked as shit. If this is what Zayn has been smoking lately, combined with horse-tranquilizer amounts of Xanax, no wonder he’s been out of sorts. 

“Do you —“ Niall hesitates. “Do you worry about that? About him stepping out? Sorry, it’s none o’ my business. I think I had a few too many.”

“Yeah,” Louis mutters. “Reckon I do. Not a ton, but I… y’know. He’s no angel, I know this. I’m not either.”

“You’re more angel than him,” Niall says very seriously.

Louis grins. “Thanks lad. Maybe don’t make it so obvious where your loyalty’s at, though.”

“Oh, fuck it, he knows. Nothing I can do to hide it.” Niall hiccups. “I just worry about you, and these two little babies. I look at him, today, right now, and, I dunno… he seems a wee unsteady. I know I don’t see him much, but I want to know you’re, y’know.”

“Taken care of?”

“I mean, yeah.”

“I am, love, always. Even if it didn’t work out between me and him, I‘d be alright.” Louis tips his head and smiles at Niall. “But we’re good, I promise.”

Niall nods. “D’you love him?” he says, his voice husky. “For real?”

Louis nods back, and his eyes prickle with heat. “I do. I‘m quite stupid over him, actually. Even when he’s acting the way he has been today.”

“He hasn’t been that bad,” Niall says courteously.

“Yeah, he has. But he acts up around company.”

“I’m not _company_ ,” Niall says, sounding a little bitter. He finishes the beer in his hand. “I’m Niall.”

“I know, lad. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Me an’ him have our own relationship, or we did, at one point. Dunno where it went.”

“It’s not your fault, I swear. I don’t know why he gets like this.”

Niall’s quiet for a moment. “He must love you loads, though,” he says. “To be all-in like this, married with two kids, and everything. Everyone I know in the industry says he can’t even sit through a half hour meeting anymore. Just gets up and walks out of the room.”

“I hear that too,” Louis says, wriggling on the couch, trying to get comfortable again. Niall is officially trashing his mellow high. “Like I said, ‘e’s been going through some shit. I’m trying to be patient.”

“I know. I didn’t mean that bad, like, I really did mean it as a good thing. Seems like he cares about you more than anything else.”

More tears prickle at Louis’ eyes, and heat prickles in his chest. “I guess,” he says roughly. 

Niall gets unsteadily up from the couch and staggers over to him, pulling him into a hug. “Love you, mate.”

“Love you too,” Louis says, clinging to him. “It’s properly good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Zayn comes back while they’re hugging, and Niall releases Louis, heading back to his seat on the couch. Zayn sits down a few feet from him, and they all sit there in stoned, drunken silence, watching the TV that’s playing football on mute. Louis and Niall take turns checking their phones. 

After a few minutes, Ingrid appears in the doorway, with Mia struggling in her arms.

“Daddy,” Mia chirps when she sees Louis, and starts struggling faster. “Daddy! Daddy!”

“Sorry,” Ingrid says, looking abashed. “She’s been shouting for you, Louis.”

“Aw,” Louis says, setting his phone down and stretching his arms out. “That’s alright, bring her here…” Ingrid leans over the couch to deposit Mia into Louis’ arms, and she snuggles into his neck like a koala. “Hi baby, hi sweetheart.”

“I’m going to go back to Amir,” Ingrid whispers, patting Mia on the back. “He was down when I left the nursery, though…”

“Thanks love.”

“She never clings on me like that,” Zayn comments. He sounds crossfaded as shit, his words heavy and deliberate. “Only you.”

“Zayn, please, she adores you,” Louis says, rolling his eyes and stroking Mia’s hair. “She just feels safest with me, that’s all.” He waves his hand in the air to dissipate some of the weed odor that’s lingering. 

Niall stares at them for a long moment, then slurs, “Is it okay for you to hold her when you’ve been drinking?”

“Neil, for fuck’s sake...”

“I’m just asking!” He puts his hands up. “I dunno.”

“It’s fine,” Louis says, exasperated.

Mia babbles some nonsense that Louis half-understands just from knowing her so well, then yanks on his hoodie strings and puts them in her mouth. Louis is high enough to just find this funny. He kisses her on the head and wraps her up tight in his arms, squeezing her.

“Are you my little buddy?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Mia says. 

Louis bumps his nose against hers, making her laugh. In his peripheral vision, he sees Zayn chugging half of another beer.

He chooses to ignore this, because he doesn’t want to snap at Zayn in Mia’s face. Instead he takes her little hands in his, playing lazy pattycake with her, smiling at her and watching her giggle. It’s a shame that Louis can’t really be high to take care of the babies, because it makes connecting with them so much simpler, and it makes all the little boring bits of childcare feel new and interesting. 

(He is sometimes a tiny bit high during the day, these past few weeks. He feels terrible about it, and he won’t admit it to anyone, because it would just confirm everyone’s worst thoughts about him. But taking a few hits off a joint in the morning helps keep his pain under control without him having to take the pills he keeps getting prescribed, and he figures it’s actually better to be a little stoned than it is to be zonked on opiates.)

“Mimsy,” Louis sings. 

Mia tugs at the watch on his wrist and babbles. 

“I love you,” he tells her. “You love me?”

She nods. 

“Can you say it back? Say ‘I love you.’”

“I luvoo.”

Louis kisses her on the head. “Good girl. You wanna go back to bed? It’s late.”

“Bear book,” Mia insists.

“Okay, I’ll read your bear book.” Louis gets to his feet, balancing her on his hip. “Lads, I’ll be back.”

Niall and Zayn look a little worried about being left alone together, and Louis can tell the conversation will dry up the second he leaves the room. 

“Want help?” Zayn says.

“No, love, I’m alright,” Louis says. It’s petty, but he likes the minor revenge of forcing Zayn to endure ten minutes of an uncomfortable social situation. “Back in a flash.” 

Upstairs in the dark nursery, by the glow of several nightlights, Ingrid is rocking Amir in the Snugabunny swing he likes so much. Louis deposits Mia into her crib and pulls up a chair next to her, holding her little hand.

“Alright,” he murmurs, pulling up her favorite book in the Kindle app on his phone and tilting the large screen so she can see the pictures. “‘Polar bear, polar bear, what do you hear? I hear a lion roaring in my ear…’”

Mia is fast asleep before he even finishes the book. Louis puts the side of her crib up, flicks his phone off and pets her head, then gets up and goes to kneel beside Amir, petting his head, too, and giving him a kiss. He stirs a tiny bit in his sleep, but doesn’t wake. 

“He’s been down for an hour now,” Ingrid whispers.

“Oh, sick. Call me if he wakes up and you can’t get him back down, alright?” Louis feels a stabbing pain in his right pec and bends over, clutching his chest, exhaling a hiss. Milk starts trickling out of him. 

Ingrid sets her magazine down and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?” 

He nods with difficulty, breathing through the pain. “Yeah.”

“Are you backed up? I know you said you’re not pumping.”

Louis shakes his head. “I’m not making enough to pump. Just dribbles.”

“If you started, you’d make more.”

“Wouldn’t be a point to that, I can’t give it to ‘em anyway... it’s full of Demerol.”

Ingrid winces in sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles at her. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Hey, go enjoy yourself, have a night away from your kids. Everything is under control here.”

“Thanks, love.”

Louis wipes his chest with his t-shirt as he heads downstairs, so the wet spots don’t visibly leak through his sweatshirt. When he peeks back in the den, Niall is alone.

“Where’s Zayn?” he says.

Niall glances back at him and shrugs. “Kitchen, I think? Thought maybe he was going to bed, he seemed sleepy…”

“I didn’t see him upstairs,” Louis says, turning and heading back into the hall, starting to get a little nervous for some reason. “D’you want to sleep over, by the way?”

“Oh, yeah, if I could,” Niall says. Louis can hear him getting up to follow him. “Wee drunk to drive.”

“Even though you’re the best drunk driver I know.”

“Shhh,” Niall says, laughing. 

Louis turns into the kitchen and flips on the overhead light, flooding it with that warm, soft white lighting he still can’t get used to, even years on. Rich people lighting. He spots Zayn after a second of looking — he’s lying on the floor, curled up against the island, his face resting on a cushion that he pulled off one of the barstools.

“Zayn,” Louis says, going to him and kneeling beside him. “Zayn. _Zayn_!” He yanks him into a sitting position and slaps his face, but Zayn remains unresponsive. His heart starts pounding, running away with him as he reaches down to feel Zayn’s pulse in his throat. It’s there, and it’s strong, which is a relief.

Zayn’s eyes move under his eyelids, but his head lolls onto his shoulder like he’s asleep. Louis shakes him some more.

“Is he out?” Niall says, and kneels down beside Louis. “He didn’t drink much…”

“He took a ton of Xanax earlier,” Louis mutters. “You aren’t supposed to mix them… ZAYN!”

“Put an ice cube in his bum. I think you’re s’posed to put an ice cube in their bum when this happens.”

“That’s for heroin.”

“Oh,” Niall says. “How do you know that?”

“How do _you_ know about the ice cube in the bum trick, but not what it’s actually for?”

“Dunno, actually. Maybe in his mouth, then? Nose? D’you have those, like, smelling salts?”

“Why would I have smelling salts?” Louis says distractedly, slapping Zayn one more time and getting to his feet to go get ice from the ice maker. “We’ve got ammonia in the cleaning supplies, can I just stick some ammonia under his nose?”

“I think he’s just passed out,” Niall says, as Louis carries a handful of ice cubes back over to Zayn. “He’s been like this before, yeah? Didn’t we draw willies on his face once, and he didn’t wake?”

Louis laughs at the memory. “Aye,” he says, rubbing an ice cube over Zayn’s face, his eyelids and lips. Zayn stirs and makes a soft, unhappy sound. “Yeah, there we are, mate. Wakey wakey.” He rubs the ice cube up and down Zayn’s bony sternum, and Zayn full-body twitches, then jerks away from him, rubbing at his face and wiping his eyes. 

“Fuck are you doing?” he demands.

“Waking you up, arsehole,” Louis says, sounding more calm than he feels. “You’re passed out in the kitchen.”

Zayn bats his ice cube-filled hand away. “I just fell asleep for a mo.”

“I was slapping you and shaking you and yelling your name!”

Niall gets awkwardly to his feet and stumbles away toward the fridge. Zayn stares at Louis with a defiant look.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“You are fine,” Louis says. “‘Cos you’re gonna have a cup of coffee, and then I’m keeping an eye on you. I’ve got two babies, Zayn, I don’t need a third! Fuck’s sake.”

Zayn sighs, but doesn’t protest.

Niall reappears with a chilled bottle of Evian in his hand. “Right, I’m off t’ bed,” he says cheerfully, as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened.

“I’ll show you where,” Louis says, getting up. “Get some coffee,” he snaps at Zayn, who puts his hands in the air like Louis is being irrational, but he gets up and goes over to the coffeemaker, where a half-full pot is still sitting from this morning.

Louis takes Niall up to the guest bedroom closest to the master bedroom, fetches him a towel from the linen closet, and shows him how the remote for the TV in there works, because he knows Niall sometimes gets insomnia and likes to watch telly when that happens.

“Thanks,” Niall says appreciatively, after Louis has even gone to the trouble of showing him the golf channel. 

Louis squeezes his arm. “Night, mate. You want breakfast in the morning?”

“Ah, I ought t’ head out early… I’ve got a meeting around eleven.”

“You’re gonna be hungover, though,” Louis points out. “Should stay for an egg.”

“Tommo,” Niall says, laughing. “I’m Irish. I had five beers. I’ll be right as the rain.”

Louis laughs too. “Alright. Get some good sleep, then.” 

“I will,” Niall says, taking a seat on the bed. “I like this mattress. Nice squish to it.”

Louis carefully closes the door behind him and heads into the hall. He pauses for a moment outside his and Zayn’s bedroom door, exhales heavily, then opens it.

Zayn is sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at his phone, the coffee mug on the floor beside his feet. He glances up when he hears Louis, and stretches his arms out, beckoning him.

Louis is still peeved, but he goes over to Zayn and takes a seat on his lap. Zayn wraps his arms around him and kisses his neck.

“Can we have sex?” he murmurs.

“Fine,” Louis says. He’s pretty stoned and exhausted, but he has just enough energy to lie there and be fucked. If Zayn wanted fucked, that would be a different story, that would have to wait ‘til tomorrow.

To his horror, Zayn responds to this by sticking a hand up under his sweatshirt and grabbing a handful of his tummy. Louis wriggles in his grasp and tries to push his hand away, his face burning.

“Stop,” Zayn complains. “I like your body. I like how you look right now.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I do. You look like you did before, before Modest made you lose weight.”

“They didn’t make me lose weight! I wanted to lose weight.” 

Zayn runs a hand up and down his waist, then reaches down to grab him where his arse meets his thigh. “They didn’t exactly stop you. And I always thought you looked fine.”

“I thought _you_ looked fine back when you weren’t starving to death.”

“Maybe we both looked fine.”

“You were unconscious, earlier,” Louis says, as Zayn continues, offensively, to grope the parts of his thighs where the most baby weight has congregated, the parts that Louis pokes at with annoyance when he’s in the shower. “You realize that, yeah? I couldn’t rouse you. I had to stick an ice cube in your eye.”

“I was roused,” Zayn says, dismissively. “I could hear you two. I just didn’t want to wake up.”

“Why not?”

“I was tired. I am tired. I’m always waking up to check on Amir when he sleeps in here, I can’t just sleep through. We should ‘ave Ingrid work nights more often.”

“You have to just sleep when he sleeps. You did that with Mims.”

“That was different,” Zayn says. “I felt different.”

“Why? Why are you more worried about Amir?”

“I dunno.” Zayn’s quiet. “I keep having dreams where he dies, like,” he adds, his voice breaking a little.

Louis nuzzles his handsome face. “But they’re just dreams.”

“They feel real. Muhammad had prophetic dreams.”

“Oh, fuckin’ Muhammad now, are you?”

Zayn laughs, but he looks far away. They’re both quiet for a moment before Zayn kisses him. He tastes like burnt coffee.

“I love you,” he murmurs to Louis.

Louis runs his fingers through Zayn’s hair. “I love you too.”

Zayn pulls him closer, squeezing a handful of his stomach again. “I like your tummy.”

“Fuck’s sake, stop!”

“You’re gonna tighten back up and take it away from me,” Zayn sighs. “Can never just have what I want.”

“Please, you get everything you want. And anyway it’s _my_ body.”

“Should be mine. You’re not nice to it, I should get custody.”

“‘Cos you’re so nice to your body?”

Zayn noses at his armpit. “You can ‘ave custody of mine, then. We’ll swap.”

“Think I’d have a few tattoos removed off you, first things first.”

“Ouch. Same to you.”

“I’d have a few tattoos removed off me, too, if I could be arsed.”

“Really?”

Louis considers it. “Nah, guess not.”

Zayn falls back against the bed, then, and they start making out, taking stoned and luxurious pulls off of each other’s lips. Louis’ cock starts buzzing, and his body starts reacting to Zayn’s presence, making his legs spread and his muscles slacken. 

“I love you,” Louis murmurs to him, and moans as Zayn flicks his tongue in his ear.

“Love you,” Zayn murmurs back, biting his earlobe. 

He starts thrusting against Louis, and Louis stops him. “Do me doggy, alright? And wear a condom.”

“You serious? What’s the IUD even for, we keep ‘aving to wear condoms?”

“It’s only been in two days, it ain’t working yet!”

Zayn sighs in a childish way. “Why do I have to do you doggy?”

“‘Cos I said so.”

“Why, though?”

“‘Cos if you do me missionary you’re smackin’ your pelvis off me birth canal, and I’m sore from ‘avin’ a baby and havin’ the fucking IUD put in, is why.”

“But you let me do you in missionary the other day.”

“I was on loads of pain drugs! And I was sore after that, which is why I’m saying this!”

“Fine,” Zayn says. “You didn’t tell me you were sore after. Budge up.” He crawls up the bed and leans over to open the bedside drawer, grabbing a condom out. “More trouble than you’re worth, honestly.”

“Please,” Louis scoffs. “You’d crawl over broken glass to fuck me dead body.”

Zayn starts laughing. “Dunno about that. Hot sand, maybe, and depends how recently you’d died.” He lifts the condom wrapper to his mouth, and Louis stops him.

“Don’t use your teeth,” he says. “Gonna tear a hole in it.”

Zayn, still moving in that funny crossfaded way, makes an exaggerated show of carefully opening the condom with his fingers, then rolls it onto himself. He’s already completely hard, which Louis is pleased to see. 

He rolls over onto his stomach, pulling a pillow toward him so he can rest his elbows and head on it, then slides a second one under his hips. “Go on, then.”

“Yeah, go on, do all the work, Zayn,” Zayn mutters. Louis can hear air squeaking in the lube bottle as he squeezes it. 

“You can jerk off if you like, and I’ll just go to sleep,” Louis suggests.

“No, no, I put the fookin’ condom on, we’re gonna use it.”

“Then use it.”

Zayn yanks his sweats and underpants down, fingers him a little, then rocks into him and starts to fuck him. They don’t often do doggy, and it’s actually quite nice, just lying there on a pile of pillows and not even having to worry about maintaining eye contact or keeping his muscles flexed so he doesn’t look pudgy at certain angles. He could even pretend someone else is fucking him, if he wanted to. Louis’ traitorous brain jumps to Liam as soon as this occurs to him, and he banishes the thought with prejudice. Not Liam. Liam’s his friend, his brother, a guy with a very nice cock who he loves dearly and currently isn’t really speaking to, that’s all he is. 

Louis tries to mentally re-engage in the moment so he can uncross whatever line he just crossed with himself. He inches his hips up a little bit, backing them into Zayn’s hips, and really thinks about Zayn as he drives into him over and over. He loves Zayn. He gets very horny for Zayn, he yearns for him, even when Zayn is driving him absolutely batty. 

Zayn, as if sensing this anxiety, slaps Louis hard on the arse without comment, which is reassuring. Liam wouldn’t do that unprompted. He would have to instruct Liam to do that, which would take a little of the fun out of it. Zayn just doesn’t give a shit, which Louis either loves or hates, but when he loves it in the bedroom he _really_ loves it.

He gets going a little faster, and Louis lets out a moan.

“We don’t need Niall hearing that,” Zayn pants.

“We’ve got two kids, Niall knows we fuck...”

“Still.”

Louis moans louder.

“Stop it,” Zayn says, not very passionately, and he smacks Louis’ arse again, making it bounce.

Louis gives him a little more energy — starts moving his body with Zayn’s, starts rolling his hips. He’s getting hard, too, his dick rubbing against the pillow underneath him. 

“You gonna touch me?” he breathes.

Zayn reaches under him and starts stroking his cock with lazy gestures, but it’s enough to help Louis along. He rocks his hips into Zayn’s hands, and then backward against him. They’re both high and a little bit drunk and quickly becoming exhausted, but Louis is tight and Zayn gets reliably hard for him when he’s not limpdicked, so it’s only a few minutes before he comes.

“God,” Zayn groans, catching his breath. “Good shit. Cheers.”

He pulls out, making Louis wince, then ties off the condom and carries it over to the trash by the desk in their bedroom. 

“Make sure the lid’s closed,” Louis says. “Bo likes to chew up condoms.” Bo is fast asleep in his bed in the corner of their room. 

“Dogs are disgusting,” Zayn mutters, pushing the trash can lid down hard so it catches.

“I like them.”

“I like them too, but they’re dirty and disgusting.” Zayn comes back over to him and collapses next to him on the bed. “You come yet?”

Louis shakes his head.

“Oh. Thought you came.”

“Nope.”

“Can you be fast?”

“Depends,” Louis says, smiling at him, still feeling the effects of the weed. “Can you make me be fast?”

Zayn comes over and rolls on top of him, sliding his hand between their bodies to start stroking Louis’ hard cock again. He nuzzles his pretty face against Louis’ throat, smelling like oud cologne, exhaling in his ear and making his cock throb. “Are you a little whore for me?”

Louis throbs harder and twitches in Zayn’s hand. “Yeah,” he moans, writhing against him, humping his fingers. “I am.”

“You love being fucked, don’t you? You love it when I fuck you.”

“I do...”

Zayn sucks at his neck, drawing blood to the surface of the skin as he massages his foreskin. “You like when we’re out in public and I put my ‘ands on you?”

“I do,” Louis moans.

“Why d’you like it? Tell me.”

“‘Cos I’m your whore,” Louis purrs. A chill runs down his spine, and he bucks his hips up. He doesn’t even mean this stuff, really, but it’s so hot to throw his inhibitions to the wind and say it out loud — at least it is with Zayn. Something is very hot about Zayn degrading him on a fantasy level while being absolutely pussywhipped by him in actuality. That was one of the many reasons that the ‘bitchy comments’ tweet upset him so badly — it felt like their sex life had leaked into real life, like something that was private and personal and sensitive, and above all, _fake_ , had been weaponized against him for the purpose of public humiliation. 

Zayn snogs his buzzing lips, and it only takes another minute or so of kissing and handling before Louis comes with a shudder and a sigh. 

“That was nice,” he sighs, watching Zayn wipe his hand off with a flannel. “Cheers. Fuck, I still ‘ave to brush my teeth.”

Zayn flicks the light on their bedside table off and snuggles up to Louis in bed, kissing him on the shoulder. “Do it in the morning.”

Louis decides he’s right. He’s very tired, anyway, and he seems to be melting into the bed. “Are you really alright?” he murmurs. “You’re not gonna stop breathing and die, ‘cos you drank on Xanax?”

Zayn takes Louis’ hand and places it on his chest, so he can feel it rise and fall with each breath. 

“Okay,” Louis says, and falls asleep. 

*

Niall usually wakes early, but he manages to sleep in the next morning. The sun is high in the sky by the time he finally rouses and shakes his wrist to check his Apple Watch. 9:31 a.m. The house is already alive with sound — Mia is babbling, and the dog is barking, and Louis is having a half-sung, one-sided conversation with someone, presumably the baby. 

It’s nice. It sounds like family. It makes Niall wish, for a fleeting moment, that he could have this. But maybe he only feels that way because he gets to leave.

When he comes downstairs and heads into the kitchen, Louis is shirtless and rinsing something off in the sink while Zayn stands next to him, holding Amir aloft in the air and blowing raspberries on his stomach. Mia is in a high chair, pushing Cheerios around.

“Mornin’,” Niall says.

Louis glances up at him and smiles. “Morning, lad. How’d you sleep?”

“Great, actually.”

“I got spit up on,” Louis says, wringing out what is presumably the shirt he was wearing. 

He’s carrying himself like he’s self-conscious of being shirtless, but Niall finds it oddly comforting to see his body looking soft and curvy like this. He now sometimes goes entire days without seeing anyone who isn’t ripped and in peak physical condition, especially when he’s out here in L.A. In contrast, Louis looks like a real person with more important priorities than CrossFit, and Niall wants to hug him for it. He wishes he could say that without being weird, or accidentally making Louis feel worse instead of better. 

“D’you spit up?” Zayn coos at Amir, tossing him lightly into the air. “Do you?”

“Yeah, you think it’s so cute when he does it to me, but when he does it to you you’re homicidal,” Louis mutters.

Zayn ignores him and keeps fussing over the baby. He seems better than he did yesterday, more cheerful, less flattened. Niall goes over to the coffee pot and pours himself a cup, then stops next to Mia to say hi to her. She peeps back a small “Hi” before returning to her Cheerios.

Louis goes to Zayn and takes Amir back, cradling him in his arms. Zayn reaches down and plays with Amir’s little baby cheeks, making Louis smile. They both look happy, and proud of what they made, while Amir stares up at them with his big eyes. Niall sips his coffee as he observes all this.

“Mia’s gonna get jealous,” Louis whispers, and glances over at her.

Zayn and Niall look over at her too. Mia looks up from her Cheerios, registers all the eyes on her, and seems to take stock of the situation before bursting into tears.

“Ohh, lovey,” Zayn says, going over to her and pulling her out of the high chair. “Yasmee-een. You’re alright.”

Niall finishes his coffee. “I’ll probably head out,” he says. He wants to leave now, while things are nice and normal, because then he can pretend last night was, too. 

“Aww,” Louis says, sounding sad. “Alright… Lemme just, ah...” He looks around, seemingly for a place to put the baby down, but doesn’t find one. In his arms, Amir looks funnily bemused, sucking on a pacifier as his dad spins from side to side. “Er. Well, I’ll walk you out, anyway. Say bye to Uncle Niall, Mims.”

“Bye bye,” Mia says, waving at Niall from Zayn’s arms, suddenly cheerful again.

“Bye Mia,” Niall says to her, waving back. Zayn waves too. "Bye Zayn."

Niall heads toward the front foyer, listening to Louis’ footsteps behind him. When he thinks they’re out of earshot, he turns back to Louis, who’s cradling Amir to his shoulder, now.

“It was proper good to see you, seriously,” Louis says. “I’ve missed you.”

“I missed you too, lad. I wish everything wasn’t so… y’know, with the band…”

Louis nods. “I know. Me too.”

“It’ll get better,” Niall says with confidence. “Just needs time, yeah?”

“Needs time,” Louis agrees. “Sorry this was sort of an odd visit. It’s like we used to say about the songs… they can’t all be winners.”

Niall laughs. “Maybe next time we’ll hang out just you and me, no Zayn?”

“Zayn heard that,” Zayn shouts down the hall.

Niall’s heart jumps. “Sorry, mate!” he calls back. “Didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

“It’s a plan,” Louis mouths at him, and winks. When Louis is smiling at him, Niall feels like everything will really, actually, genuinely be okay. It’s a talent he has. 

“Well,” Niall says. “‘Til next time.” He strokes Amir’s soft little baby head, and pats Louis on his bare shoulder. “Take care of yourself, you, alright? Nice meetin’ you, Amir.”

Louis uses Amir’s little baby hand to wave at him as he goes. “You take care of yourself too, Nialler,” he yells after him. 

“Always do,” Niall calls over his shoulder. It’s another hot, blindingly sunny day — a beach weather day. He slides his sunglasses down over his eyes as he walks to his car.


End file.
